Page 66 of The Woman in the Garage

Clutching the toilet tank lid, I slipped out of my shoes, then moved silently through the waiting room.

Five feet into the garage, I started to see the contents of my purse that had dropped from my shoulder one of the times I’d fallen.

Wallet.

Pens.

Makeup.

Then, finally, my phone.

I stopped long enough to grab it, then I was turning and running again, not stopping until I was behind the locked bathroom door once more.

I sat there, unlocking my phone.

I knew who I was supposed to call.

But my finger slid to my texts instead and hit call.

“Sweetheart, I was starting to—“ Santo’s voice met my ear.

“Santo!”

I hadn’t meant to come off as hysterical, but all of the fear, anxiety, and upset bubbled up and boiled over.

“Where are you?” he asked, voice tight. “Are you still at work?”

“Yes,” I said, sniffing as tears flowed down my face.

“I’m on my way, okay?” he said, and I could hear the bleep of his car locks, then the purr as his engine turned over.

“Okay.” I sniffled.

“Three minutes,” Santo said. “Just sit tight. Stay on the phone with me. I’m on my way.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Santo

I was starting to worry that the food would be finished before Dasha made her way over.

The house was full of garlic, basil, and tomato with just a slight undercurrent of rosemary and olive oil from the focaccia that had just come out of the oven.

I’d checked my phone no fewer than ten times over the past hour, wondering why I hadn’t gotten an update from Dasha yet.

She’d probably just gotten busy.

It wasn’t like me to be so damn needy.

If I were really that curious, my ass could have reached out to her, asked for an ETA, something like that.

I stirred the pasta as I debated shooting her that text.

In the end, though, the decision was made for me.

The phone started to ring from the counter.

Of course she would call. Everything about Dasha suggested she was someone who wanted to actually talk to you. Or even video-call you to have a face-to-face conversation.

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